Winds of Change
by rinny08
Summary: Now that they're both back in Mystic Falls, Damon doesn't know if he can be held responsible for his actions.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm baaaack. Not that I've been gone for that long. I've just been off collaborating with Vesuvious. ;) If you haven't yet, you should totally go read our fic. There's only one chapter right now, but it's going to be **_**epic**_**. No lie.**

**So this fic is actually going to have a plot and angst! (I know, I'm as shocked as you are.) I snagged the title from Bob Dylan's 'Make You Feel My Love', which has sort of become my official Daremy song. (Those of you who've read **_**Trust**_** probably remember the songfic…)**

**All right, enough shameless plugs from me. Happy reading and I look forward to your reviews. :)**

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><p>Jeremy flops backwards onto his bed, huffing out a sigh and staring up at his too-familiar ceiling in frustration. He's twenty-two, about to turn twenty-three in a few weeks actually, and this isn't where he belongs. He should be getting a crappy apartment somewhere with some equally questionable roommates, living on ramen noodles so he can afford to pay for canvases and charcoal and paint. Instead, he's in his childhood bedroom, his four years of (a possibly useless) art school education still packed in the boxes crammed inside the room.<p>

He can hear Tucker running circles around the living room, blaring _Dora the Explorer_ or whatever lame show kids watch now. And Ric and Jenna are laughing at some adorable toddler thing Jackson is doing, and yeah, Jeremy's happy for the Saltzmans' domestic bliss. He just doesn't want to witness it up close and personal. Except he doesn't really have another choice because he has no fucking clue what he's supposed to do with his life now that he's finished college. And even if he did have a clue, it's not like he has any money to make it happen. He rolls off of the bed and tries to remember which box his sheets are packed in. Maybe this will be less depressing if he isn't lying on a bare mattress like he's living in some kind of crack den.

He finds his sheets, but the navy blue bedding doesn't make him feel better. It just reminds him of the bed he left behind in Savannah. Not that there was anything special about it or anyone special in it. It was just there instead of here. Jeremy starts pulling things out of boxes at random, but he gives up with clothes and books and shoes and miscellaneous crap he accumulated over four years strewn around his room. He wanders out into the hallway, past his sister's room which is now Tucker's. He wonders if Jenna and Ric knew he was going to need a place to figure his shit out once he graduated, since they redid the guest room rather than giving Jackson Jeremy's room. Or maybe they just figured Elena could always stay with Stefan anytime she came into town.

Jenna smiles brightly at him when he steps into the kitchen.

"All unpacked?" She asks.

"Not really." Jeremy shrugs. "It's kind of a disaster zone in there, actually."

"Do you want help?" Jenna offers. He should probably say yes, because at least then it will get done, but he can't quite bring himself to accept the fact that he's here. Unpacking makes it real, and he's perfectly happy to be in denial for a little bit longer. Plus, his shift at the Grill starts in twenty minutes.

"Jermy!" Tucker collides with Jeremy's kneecaps, and he figures he should probably start getting used to being around his young cousins. It's fine, seeing them on holidays; in small doses they're pretty adorable. Living with them is going to be something else entirely, he's already sure of that. Jackson gurgles at him from his high chair, and there is a mysterious orange substance smeared across his face and all over his bib, and Jeremy kind of wants to draw it, if he thought the baby would sit still long enough. But Jack is two, and in about thirty seconds he'll be squalling to get down from the table.

"I've gotta head out."

"Where are you going?" Jenna frowns, trying to coax Jack into sitting still so she can wipe the orange goo (seriously, _what_ had he been eating?) off his face.

"I have work tonight."

"I didn't realize you were starting so soon." If he didn't think it would make her cry, Jeremy would probably remind her that the whole point of living at home is so he can save money to move away sooner.

The May evening is cooler than usual, and it smells like there's rain on the way. Jeremy shoves his hands into his pockets, choosing to walk the ten minutes to the Grill rather than drive since he already spent seven hours in the car this morning. He walks the familiar path to the Grill on autopilot. He's been bartending there for a few summers, and he figures since he knows the job and the tips are good, it will be okay until he comes up with a real plan.

The Grill is pretty quiet when he walks in, the lull between the high school crowd and dinner. Matt is busing tables, getting ready for the dinner rush, and Jeremy waves to the older man as he heads towards the bar. They've fallen into a comfortable friendship after several summers working together.

Jeremy spends his first hour behind the bar pouring drinks for regulars and catching up with Matt. Ric stops in to say hello on his way home from work, giving Jeremy an awkward one-armed hug over the bar.

"Good too see you, Jer." Ric says, like he didn't just see Jeremy last week at his graduation.

"You too, Ric. Can I get you a drink?"

"Nah, Jenna's got dinner on the table. Should we save you a plate?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll grab something here."

Ric nods and pushes off the bar, "See you at home."

"Yep."

Once Ric leaves, Jeremy loses himself in pulling pints and mixing drinks and generally being sociable enough to earn some decent tips. Since it's a random Wednesday, the bar stays pretty quiet, so Jeremy can just lean against it and watch the customers. Now that he's an artist, it's not creepy, it's just research. For the most part, Mystic Falls puts up with his eccentricities anyway. It's a small town, and everybody knows that he's Jeremy Gilbert, the boy who doesn't quite fit. It used to bother him, but he stopped caring a while ago.

It's an hour before closing when the familiar voice drifts over the bar.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Jeremy Gilbert, all grown up."

Jeremy sighs and turns towards Damon. "Shouldn't you be off terrorizing innocents somewhere?"

Damon smirks. "Haven't you heard, Jeremy? There's no place like home."

Jeremy rolls his eyes. "Can I get you anything, or are you just here to annoy me?"

Damon slides onto a barstool and leans forward, planting his elbows on the bar. "I'm offended. We're just two old friends—

"No we aren't."

Damon continues as if Jeremy hadn't interrupted. "And when I heard you were back, I thought I'd come and say hello, catch up, buy you a drink."

"That seems pretty far out of your way. Last I heard, you were in Southeast Asia."

"So you've been keeping tabs on me then." Damon's eyes glitter triumphantly.

"No." Jeremy says, "I have no control over the things Elena decides are newsworthy." Jeremy doesn't intend to sound defensive, but somehow he does and Damon just smirks wider. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Surprise me," Damon says with a wink.

If Jeremy were feeling vindictive, he might make Damon some sort of fruity frozen girly drink (preferably an expensive one), but he can't be bothered so he just mixes a Jack and Coke and slides it over to the vampire.

Damon takes a sip and pulls a face. "Honestly. Why all you humans feel the need to taint perfectly good alcohol with sugary battery acid is beyond me."

Jeremy snorts. "I'll be sure to remember that for next time."

"Who says I'll be back?" Damon arches an eyebrow.

Jeremy shrugs, "Just figured you wouldn't come all this way for no reason."

Damon looks uncomfortable for a moment, before he schools his face into a more neutral expression. Jeremy doesn't bother trying to figure out why. He gave up trying to understand Damon years ago.

"Why are _you_ back?" Damon frowns, looking at Jeremy like he's a puzzle he can't quite put back together.

"I don't know what the fuck I want to do with my life." Jeremy says flatly.

"Well, that makes two of us." Damon raises his glass in Jeremy's general direction and downs the rest of his drink quickly. "I'm gonna go. Innocents to terrorize, and all that."

He watches Damon leave, unable to explain the surge of disappointment he feels when the vampire exits the bar and disappears into the night.

Jeremy finishes his shift and bums a ride home with Matt in the same truck Matt's had since high school. The house is dark when Matt drops him off, but Jenna or Ric left the porch light on for him. He digs his keys out of his pocket and slips into the house quietly, easing out of his shoes and going into the kitchen for a glass of water before heading upstairs and into his room. He digs through his cardboard boxes for his pajamas, but ends up settling on an old t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

He's too wired to sleep—he became a bit of an insomniac his freshman year of college and he's never quite managed to get over it—so he finds a sketchbook and a pencil and sits down to draw.

His world shrinks to nothing more than the scratch of his pencil across the paper. He doesn't even really know what he's drawing, like his hand is its own separate entity, acting free of the rest of his body. He doesn't hear the steady dripping of the sink in the bathroom or the rain that starts to patter against the windowpane.

He's not sure how much time has passed when he sets the pencil aside and he's looking down at Damon from earlier that evening: his elbows planted on the bar and a smirk on his face as he leans forward to annoy Jeremy with some snide comment. For some reason, Jeremy's gut reaction is to rip the drawing to shreds. He's not sure why. But it's a surprisingly accurate representation of how unfairly beautiful Damon is and Jeremy has always been a pack rat, unable to throw anything away in case he needs it someday. (Which is exactly how he ended up with a bedroom filled to the ceiling with boxes.)

So he flips his sketchbook closed and tosses it onto one of the boxes, crawling beneath his navy sheets and still wishing he were somewhere else.

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><p>Eternity is a long fucking time. Damon's always known it, of course, but he's only just started to feel it. Elena and Stefan are still off on their worldwide adventure and Damon's not interested in third-wheeling, no matter how many times the pair of them insist they don't mind if he tags along. His only friend went from a badass vampire hunter to a domesticated, boring history teacher. Which Damon could probably handle, except for the kids. From far away or in a picture, Ric's kids are okay. Up close, they're sticky, drooly and loud.<p>

And Mystic Falls is boring, now that Elena's presence isn't attracting the attention of every vampire in the tri-state area (and then some) and there aren't any more werewolves around for Damon to provoke. The town is nothing but Founders events and too many teenagers hanging out at the Grill.

And yet the second Elena told him Jeremy was moving back home, he was a plane and back in this shithole town in twenty-four hours. It had only taken one phone call to his only friend to find out when Jeremy's first shift at the Grill was and he'd even managed to ignore Ric's heavy sigh and the accompanying _you're still hung up on him?_

Because Damon is hung up on Jeremy. He's never been able to explain it and he's never really tried to hide it either, because it's plain as fucking day to everyone. Except Jeremy. He's tried resisting the strange, magnetic pull the other man has over him, but apparently even going as far away as Vietnam isn't enough. And now that they're both back in Mystic Falls…well, Damon doesn't know if he can be held responsible for his actions.

When he steps into the Grill, seeing Jeremy leaning against the bar and laughing with Matt sets off the familiar spark of longing he grew accustomed to when Jeremy was still in high school. But apparently absence _does_ make the heart grow fonder, because he doesn't remember the need to drag Jeremy away ever being quite this strong. He's not remotely bothered about finding somewhere more private anymore. He'd _happily_ fuck Jeremy on the bar in front of the entire town if it meant he could stop feeling like this.

Damon wishes it were just about sex. That would be _easy_. He wouldn't be remotely surprised if Jeremy's gotten complacent and isn't wearing vervain anymore. Damon could compel him, fuck Jeremy Gilbert out of his system, and leave this town for good this time.

But the idea makes Damon feel ill. Because he doesn't want meaningless sex with questionable consent. He can get that anywhere. With Jeremy, he wants _feelings_. He wants to spoon as much as he wants to fuck. And that just makes him feel like Stefan, which is unacceptable.

So he sits across the bar from Jeremy and exchanges in his usual sarcastic banter and only slips up a few times. Maturity has made Jeremy more perceptive, and Damon is certain he's going to be caught out. Maybe not tonight, but soon. Because somehow Jeremy looks at him and Damon feels like Jeremy can _see_ all the things he's trying desperately to hide.

And it's terrifying. But at the same time, it's exhilarating because it means that _something_ is going to happen. After feeling like this for six years, Damon wants Jeremy to put him out of his misery, one way or another.

After leaving the Grill, Damon walks home. He could have run and been home in seconds, but he needs the walk to clear his head. He lets himself into the boardinghouse and pours himself another drink. He brings it upstairs with him and sets it on the table beside his bed while he changes from jeans to comfortable sleep pants. He crawls into bed and burrows beneath the fluffy white duvet, propping himself up against the pillows and leaning over for his drink and his book.

It doesn't matter that he's read _Gone with the Wind_ thousands of times by now, probably. It's always going to be his favorite because it takes him directly back to the time when he was human, when he wasn't so lonely and broken and lost.

Damon loses himself in the book that he's all but memorized, forgetting his drink sitting on the bedside table and not noticing the rain outside until the wind is howling, a summer storm building quickly. He sets _Gone with the Wind_ aside and snaps off the light, plunging the room into darkness, falling asleep just before the thunder begins.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: After a ridiculously long break, during which I cheated on this fic with other fandoms, took exams and moved home again, I'm baaaack, helped in part by encouragement (ahem, blackmail) from **_**Vesuvious. ;)**

_**Obviously certain canon events have shot this fic to hell, so I guess we're calling this an AU from now on.**_

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><p>Jeremy's second day back in Mystic Falls, he starts work at noon with the lunch crowd. In the lull between lunch and the afternoon teenagers, he pulls out his sketchbook and sits at the bar to draw, considering himself lucky that Matt is technically his boss and doesn't really care what Jeremy does when there isn't anybody around.<p>

"Last time I checked, you're supposed to be on the other side."

Jeremy jumps and glances up from his drawing to see Damon smirking at him. He flips his sketchbook closed quickly and slides off the stool, walking around to the other side of the bar. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." Damon deadpans.

"You're here early. Run out of booze at home?"

"Never," Damon scoffs. "I'm here for the pleasure of your company, of course. And I'm meeting Ric. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Jeremy rolls his eyes. "Would you like to order something today, or should I make you another surprise drink you'll just end up complaining about?"

"Bourbon. Neat."

"Learned your lesson with the Jack and Coke, then." Jeremy smiles slowly.

"I did. I'll never trust your taste in drinks again." Jeremy shrugs and pours Damon's drink, sliding him the tumbler. "Did you know the lovebirds will be back in town for the fourth of July?" Damon pulls a face.

"Elena mentioned that, yeah."

"They're checking up on me," Damon smirks. "Making sure I don't have some evil master plan to destroy the town."

Jeremy rolls his eyes. "Even I know you're not that stupid. But why are you back? You could be anywhere, and you're _here_."

"I already told you," Damon grins, "I came back for you."

Jeremy snorts. "Fine, whatever. Don't tell me. I don't really want to be an accessory to your evil master plan anyway."

Before Damon does something stupid, like find a way to prove to Jeremy that he's actually telling the truth, Ric steps up to the bar, clapping Damon on the shoulder and ordering a beer. The history teacher/vampire hunter steers them to a corner booth, earning an irritated glare from Damon.

"Trust me, buddy, it's for your own mental health." Ric shakes his head.

"I know what I'm doing," Damon insists, although he isn't entirely sure that he does. He's fairly certain he's in over his head, floundering, begging for scraps of Jeremy's attention.

"You're doing an awesome job _pretending_ you know what you're doing. But really you've got no fucking clue." Ric says, and Damon suddenly remembers exactly why none of his previous friendships ever lasted: he hates when people know him well enough to read him and see through the sarcasm and witty retorts.

Damon sighs heavily. He can't lie to himself (not for lack of trying, however) and it seems he can't lie to his best friend either. He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes tracking Jeremy as he mixes a drink and flirts with the two women sitting at the bar.

Ric groans. "Why haven't you done something about it already? You had plenty of opportunities the last time you were here."

Damon scoffs at that. "He was too young then."

Ric frowns and Damon realizes he's revealed too much _again_. "What do you mean, he was too young? Age was never something that stopped you."

Damon shrugs, hoping Ric will leave it there. He doesn't, of course.

"Jesus, Damon. You're _in love_ with him, aren't you?"

"Certainly took you long enough to figure that out. I haven't been remotely subtle." Damon downs the rest of his drink quickly. From the way Ric is blinking at him owlishly, Damon can tell Ric was expecting some kind of denial, but Damon's done denying it. He's pretty sure Elena caught on first, and she's been incessantly annoying about it ever since she got the idea that he and Jeremy might be _good_ for each other.

Damon doesn't let himself think about that possibility. It was easier in the early days, when he could pretend all he wanted was a few quick fucks, maybe a taste of Jeremy's blood. Now he knows better.

"You're being pathetic." Ric says bluntly and if he were anyone else, Damon probably would have to hit him. "Seriously, Damon. You _always_ chase whatever you want, regardless of the consequences."

It's the truth. Until Jeremy, Damon never hesitated going after what he wanted, even if what he wanted didn't want him. He'd done it with Katherine and with Elena. But he learned something the second time around that didn't sink in when he and Stefan were fighting over Katherine. Caution. For the most part, it's a totally foreign concept and he's still learning, but it's stopping him from getting in his own way and fucking everything up before it even gets off the ground. It's not the way he's used to doing things _at all_, but considering his track record that might not be a bad thing.

"I'm not being pathetic." Damon shakes his head. "I'm…taking my time."

Ric's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline in his surprise. Then, he lets out a loud laugh. "Really? You're changing your methods after two centuries? Good luck with that one."

Damon rolls his eyes. "I'm glad you find my life so amusing. I'm going to get a refill."

"Don't." Ric stops him. "You don't really want another drink, you just want to flirt. Come over for dinner and you can catch him when he finishes his shift."

"Ric—

"Trust me." Ric says again. "Jenna's making pot roast. And the boys love seeing their Uncle Damon."

"Exactly how is any of that supposed to entice me to come over?" Damon says sardonically.

"Very funny. Let's go. And don't roll your eyes at me, you know I'm just saving you from yourself."

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><p>Jeremy doesn't have to close that evening, so he finishes his shift at nine and walks home. He wants to go upstairs, shower and collapse into bed but he guesses from the moment he walks through the front door that isn't going to happen. He can hear laughter in the kitchen and before he can sneak upstairs Jenna sticks her head out into the hallway.<p>

"Hey Jer," she smiles at him. "How was work?"

Jeremy shrugs, "Fine. I'm really tired, I think I'm gonna go to bed."

Jenna's face falls. "Are you sure? We saved you some pot roast. And Damon's here. He's been telling us stories about his trip."

Before Jeremy can protest further, Damon himself steps into the hallway and shoots Jeremy his most sincere smile, which is weird, since Jeremy only ever remembers him smiling that way at Elena.

"C'mon Jeremy," Damon wheedles, his tone light and teasing. "You know you want to come hang out with the grown-ups."

Jeremy feels his resolve crumbling and he sighs, following Jenna and Damon back into the kitchen. There's a half empty bottle of wine on the table and Ric is looking at it like he's trying to decide whether or not he wants another glass. Jeremy grabs the plate Jenna made up for him from the fridge and starts heating the leftovers in the microwave, zoning out to the appliance's low drone and watching his pot roast rotate slowly inside.

A hand slides across Jeremy's shoulders and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Somebody's twitchy tonight." Damon says quietly, his hand still on Jeremy's shoulder and his breath ghosting across Jeremy's cheek. For no apparent reason (although later he'll chalk it up to his fight or flight instincts kicking in), Jeremy's heart starts thudding against his ribcage loudly. Definitely loud enough for the vampire to hear, if Damon's tightening grip on his shoulder is any indication.

"Jer," Damon leans in closer, his lips almost brushing Jeremy's skin, and Jeremy's traitorous body wants to lean back against Damon.

"Yeah?" The word almost sticks in Jeremy's throat, coming out garbled instead.

"Your food's done." Damon says before stepping away. Jeremy feels the loss instantly and for a moment he wants to spin around and grab Damon and pull him back but the need disappears the second Jenna's laugh rings through the kitchen and he remembers where he is and who he's with and exactly why any reaction that involves a closer proximity to Damon would be a bad idea.

He grabs a fork out of the drawer and brings his plate to the table, ignoring the way Damon is still smirking at him. He bolts down his dinner to avoid having to participate in the conversation about Damon's travels throughout Asia. His conversational skills aren't exactly missed, considering Jenna is peppering Damon with questions and Ric keeps looking between Damon and Jeremy like he's trying to figure something out. Jeremy does his best to ignore it, because there's nothing _to_ figure out. At least, not on his end. The way his heart keeps thunk-thunking in his chest doesn't mean _anything_.

He pushes his chair back from the table and it scrapes loudly across the floor. The conversation falls flat and Damon lifts an eyebrow in Jeremy's direction.

"Uh, sorry." Jeremy gets to his feet. "I'm really tired. I've got a lot of unpacking to do tomorrow, so I need to get some sleep."

Jeremy all but runs from the kitchen. Whatever is going on is just a little too fucking weird for his tastes. His relationship with Damon up until this point has ranged from civil to murderous and everything in between, but it's never been like _this_. Whatever game Damon is playing, Jeremy doesn't think he wants anything to do with it.

"That could have gone better." Jenna says as soon as Jeremy is out of earshot.

Damon shoots an annoyed look at Ric. "You _told_ her?"

"Please, Damon. You said it yourself, you haven't exactly been being subtle. Interesting stunt by the microwave, by the way. What were you trying to prove, exactly?"

"Nothing." Damon shrugs. "Just testing a theory."

"You have _got_ to stop doing this to yourself, man." Ric sighs. "You went all the way to fucking _Asia_ to try and forget about him. Either make some kind of move or get out before it's too late."

Damon shakes his head at his best friend and Jenna rolls her eyes at her husband.

"Don't listen to him, Damon. He doesn't have a clue what he's talking about."

"Believe me, I know." Damon smirks, and dodges the balled up napkin Ric throws at him in retaliation.

One of Jenna and Ric's spawn—Damon isn't sure if it's Sticky or Drooly—wanders into the kitchen in his pajamas, crying about monsters in the closet and wanting a drink of water. Ric gets up to deal with his son, clapping Damon on the shoulder as he passes.

"See you later, buddy."

Damon's first instinct is to push Ric away, to keep pushing until the other man stops coming back, but for once he doesn't say the first snide, sarcastic thing that jumps into his head. Sometimes having friends is more trouble than it's worth and Ric can be a pain in the ass, but as much as he wants to he's not going to (deliberately) alienate Ric. Some of his motivations are self-serving—more time spent with Ric probably means more time hanging around Jeremy—but there's also a large part of him that's reluctant to sabotage the only normal relationship he's ever had. (As normal as a friendship between a vampire and a vampire hunter can be, anyway.)

Jenna looks at him like she can tell exactly what he's thinking. She's always had an uncanny ability to read him, even before she knew him very well.

"How long have you known?" He asks her, and her expression softens.

"A while. Years." She shrugs. "I didn't get it, at first. But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized how much sense it makes."

It's nice not to have someone tell him he's being totally insane for once.

"Just…be patient." Jenna advises.

Damon nods, because he really doesn't see what other choice he has.

Jenna's expression darkens slightly and her voice drops to a somewhat deadly whisper. "Just don't fuck it up. If you hurt him, I'll drive a stake right through your heart."

Damon quirks an eyebrow. "A stake, huh? Creative."

"Don't look at me like that. I've known about the vampire thing for ages. Ric and I don't keep secrets."

Damon sighs. "I think that's my cue to head home. It's been a long night."

Jenna doesn't protest, she just walks him to the door and forces a hug on him before he can escape. He glances back at the house from the road and suddenly has an overwhelming, stalkerish, Edward Cullen urge to climb into Jeremy's room through his open window. He doesn't think that falls under _caution _or _patient_ though, so he turns and starts walking home through the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the delay on this one. I re-wrote it about four times before I was happy with it. Reviews are love. :)**

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><p>When Jeremy gets to work the next evening, Damon is already sitting at the bar like he's been waiting for Jeremy to get there. Which is ridiculous. There's <em>no way<em> Damon would be waiting for him, regardless of their strange encounter next to the microwave last night. Damon was just playing some sort of game with him, and Jeremy is not interested in any of Damon's games.

"Aw, Jer, why so frowny?" Damon greets him with his usual charming grin, which Jeremy chooses to ignore, walking around the bar and busying himself with taking glasses out of the dishwasher to avoid having to even look at Damon. The vampire doesn't take the hint.

"Let me guess," Damon says, "Sticky and Drooly are driving you crazy."

"Who?" Jeremy asks before he can stop himself.

Damon smirks triumphantly. "You know. The kids." He waves his hand vaguely.

"Tucker and Jackson?" Jeremy asks, fighting the urge to grin. "Which one's Sticky and which one is Drooly?"

"Does it matter?" Damon grins.

Jeremy laughs just a little bit, before catching himself. "You're terrible."

"I don't remember claiming to be anything else." Damon shrugs, before pushing off the bar.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Of course not. I'm going to circulate. Don't miss me too much."

It's a Friday night, so the Grill fills up quickly with its usual odd mix of teenagers and adults. Jeremy almost forgets about Damon, moving from table to table, charming Carol Lockwood and Sheriff Forbes and any of the other council members present. He wonders briefly if that means Damon's plotting something, or if it's just a chance for the vampire to be a shameless flirt, before forcing himself to stop thinking about Damon and his flirting tendencies and focus on work.

It's easier said than done, with the vampire appearing at the bar frequently for refills.

"Might want to slow down," Jeremy suggests while he pours Damon's fifth bourbon. "People will start to think you're a lush."

"How sweet, you're worried about me." Damon smirks, taking his drink. "But I'm all grown up, Jeremy. I can look after myself."

Jeremy huffs a annoyed sigh and checks his watch, except it tells him the same thing it did when he checked it _before_ fixing Damon's drink: he still has four hours to go until he can close for the night.

They're in the home stretch, though. The teenagers start to leave around eleven-thirty, all probably rushing home to make curfew, and the Grill gets significantly quieter once the tables are empty. The waitresses, two teenage girls, clock out at midnight, and then it's just Jeremy and Matt left to close later. The bar is still pretty full, although Damon is now noticeably absent. Jeremy refuses to wonder about _why_ the vampire has disappeared, mostly because he's fairly certain he already knows the answer.

By the time last call rolls around, there are only four people left in the bar. They start to gather their things, two of them coming up to the bar to settle their open tabs. Once Matt closes the door behind the last (fairly drunk) customer, they set to work cleaning up. He keeps pausing to yawn widely, and he looks dead on his feet.

Jeremy knows Matt has to be here in a few hours to meet the beer delivery, so he takes pity on him. "Go home, man. I can handle clean up."

"You sure?" Matt looks like he thinks Jeremy's offer might be too good to be true.

"Yeah. Get some sleep. I have tomorrow off anyway."

"All right. Thanks."

"No problem," Jeremy shrugs.

He's putting the chairs up when he hears someone knock on the locked front door. He figures Matt probably forgot something and crosses to the door. Instead of Matt, he sees Damon standing on the other side of the glass.

Damon grins when he sees him and motions for Jeremy to open the door. Which he does, against his better judgment.

"We're closed."

"I know." Damon smirks. "I'm perfectly capable of reading the sign."

"Then why are you here?"

"I saw you were all alone. I'm here to protect you from the things that go bump in the night."

"Besides you, you mean?" Jeremy asks darkly, returning to putting up chairs.

"Obviously. I'm on your side."

Damon's voice is closer than Jeremy expects and when he looks up the vampire is putting the chairs up on the next table over.

He feels a sudden rush of gratitude towards the vampire, before squashing it quickly and snapping, "I don't need your help."

Damon makes it easy to forget the less savory things he's done by being charming and witty and too damn attractive for anyone's good and Jeremy doesn't trust Damon or his motives for being back in Mystic Falls. He's tired of Damon's half-truths, regardless of how entertaining they are.

"I didn't say you needed help. But I'm bored."

"Of course you are. It's Mystic Falls."

Jeremy realizes he's not going to get rid of Damon anytime soon, so he lets the vampire continue putting chairs up while he starts pushing the mop across the floor.

"To its credit, this place is much more interesting now than in 1864. It's all that electricity and indoor plumbing."

"I'm sure that's the reason."

Damon only grins and darts out of the way of Jeremy's mop.

"You know what I don't understand," Damon says after a few minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence. "Why are _you_ here? You're obviously bored with this whole town."

"I'm figuring things out." Jeremy shrugs, wishing he had a better answer, although he's not entirely sure for whose benefit.

"Okay," Damon looks skeptical. "But you could bartend anywhere while you're 'figuring things out', ergo you don't have to be _here_."

"Ergo?" Jeremy snorts. "This sounds a lot like the pot and the kettle. You could be anywhere else. You already _were_ somewhere and you came back."

Damon shrugs. "I'm almost two hundred years old and immortal. I can do what I want. You're not. You could wake up one day twenty years from now and wonder where your life disappeared to."

"Are you giving me a pep talk?" Jeremy frowns.

"No. Just having a conversation."

"Are you sure? Because it feels very 'the world is your oyster, live your dreams, Jeremy'."

"If I _ever_ use the phase 'the world is your oyster' you have full permission to stake me." Damon smirks. "And if this _were_ a pep talk, which it isn't, it would definitely be of the 'don't be stupid and fuck up your life' variety."

"That's not a pep talk. That's common sense."

Damon shrugs, but doesn't say anything.

"I'm just getting back on my feet." Jeremy insists, not sure why it matters so much to him that Damon understands this. "Living here…it's not permanent."

"I didn't realize you'd been knocked off your feet in the first place." Damon says, and he's leveling Jeremy with a knowing look that makes Jeremy want to squirm out of his own skin.

Jeremy finishes mopping the floor and stows the mop away in the supply closet. When he returns, Damon is leaning against the bar.

"I'm done here." Jeremy says. "You'll have to find somebody else to entertain you, because I'm going home."

"I'll walk with you." Damon offers, pushing off the bar and following Jeremy to the door. Jeremy waits for the joke about the things that lurk in the dark in Mystic Falls, but it never comes. Damon must be in desperate need of company if he's willing to walk Jeremy the ten minutes from the Grill to his house.

Damon stands on the sidewalk while Jeremy locks up. Being patient, he's realizing, is not one of his strong suits. He's better at throwing caution to the wind than he is at waiting. Waiting is boring and he's starting to figure out that waiting on Jeremy means he could be waiting for a long time. It seems Jeremy is as lost as Damon is—for very different reasons, but lost all the same. Jeremy doesn't know what he wants, while Damon knows exactly what he wants but has no idea how to get it.

"Earth to Damon?"

Damon snaps out of his thoughts to find Jeremy staring at him like he thinks he's crazy.

"Yeah?" Damon frowns.

"Are we walking or are we going to stand here all night?"

Admittedly, Damon would be perfectly happy to do either, but he suspects the same cannot be said of Jeremy. "We're walking," he says, falling into step beside Jeremy.

"If this is a conversation, it's your turn to answer the question. Why are you here?"

"I wish I could tell you." Damon says honestly. "But I can't.

"That sounds more like won't." Jeremy glances sideways at Damon.

"Semantics." Damon sighs. "I've given you plenty of reasons. Pick one."

"That's bullshit, Damon, and you know it."

"I never claimed it was anything else."

"I've been nothing but honest with you. Would it kill you to do the same?" Jeremy scowls.

"I don't know. Can't say it's a theory I want to test out though," he quips. It's not one of his more attractive qualities, but Damon has always enjoyed baiting Jeremy. He likes to see how far he can push before Jeremy snaps. His fuse is much longer now than it was a few years ago; Damon has to try harder to annoy him.

Jeremy lets out a frustrated noise. "You're impossible."

"What does it matter, why I'm back?" Damon challenges. "Why do you _care_?"

The question seems to stump Jeremy because he falls silent, like he's trying to work it out before he answers.

"I don't know yet." Jeremy says softly. "But I do."

The answer surprises Damon, mostly because he'd expected a harsh_ I don't care _instead of the painfully honest admission.

"Tell me the truth." Jeremy demands, determined now.

"You can't handle the truth." The joke sounds feeble to Damon's own ears, so he knows Jeremy isn't going to buy it.

"I'm serious, Damon. I want to know."

"I don't _know_, all right?" Damon snaps, confused about how the balance of power shifted. Jeremy is supposed to be the one who's lashing out, not him. "One morning I was sitting eating breakfast in Ho Chi Minh City and four hours later I was on a plane. The only thing that happened in between was a phone call with your sister."

Jeremy flinches. "So this is about Elena."

Damon wants to freeze time, maybe rewind it, so he can analyze that flinch and the slightly injured tone of Jeremy's voice. It _means_ something, Damon knows it does, even if Jeremy doesn't want to admit it.

"I should have remembered," Jeremy continues coldly. "It's always about Elena with you."

Damon rolls his eyes. "Of course it's not about Elena. I would have gone to London to play third-wheel if it were."

Jeremy is still making a face like he might like to strangle Elena. It's the most encouraging thing that's happened in five years, at least. Definitely better than Jenna's quiet words of encouragement or Elena's not-so-subtle hinting about Jeremy's return to Mystic Falls.

"Then what is it about, Damon? Explain it to me, because I don't understand."

Damon has two choices. He could sit down with Jeremy on the porch steps (he wonders idly how long they've been arguing on the Saltzmans' driveway, because he lost track of time much earlier in the conversation) and go the Stefan route, talking about his _feelings_ and explaining everything very clearly to Jeremy, speaking slowly so as not to scare him away like the big bad vampire he is. Or he could do what he's been dying to since the moment he saw Jeremy behind the bar at the Grill three days ago.

He chooses door number two, stepping closer to Jeremy. He curls his hand around the back of Jeremy's neck and closes the distance between them, pressing his lips against Jeremy's. For a second or two Jeremy is kissing him back and then he freezes and the voice in the back of Damon's head that sounds annoyingly like Stefan tells him he should have gone the safe route. Jeremy pushes him, _hard_, and Damon stumbles backwards.

"What the _fuck _was _that_?" Jeremy hisses.

"A kiss. I know it wasn't your first, Jeremy, although that would certainly explain a lot."

"You can't just go around kissing people for no reason." Jeremy whispers harshly.

Damon isn't sure why, but Jeremy's words are like a punch to his gut. _For no reason_. It echoes around in his head, hurting more with each loop. He knows Jeremy isn't stupid, that he's deliberately pushing away what Damon is trying to tell him. Damon isn't explaining himself well, but Jeremy isn't exactly trying very hard to understand either, despite all his demands to know the truth.

"I don't know what you're trying to achieve here, but I'm tired of whatever mind game you're playing." Jeremy snaps.

"It's not a fucking game," Damon snarls before turning on his heel and striding back down the driveway. He walks at a human speed, daring Jeremy to follow him. He _needs_ Jeremy to follow him, to demand further explanations because he doesn't know how to just offer them unbidden. It goes against every instinct he has, but he wants Jeremy to claw the truth out of him, because he's afraid of what could happen if he never tells.

But Jeremy doesn't follow and Damon can't make himself go back.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: This show needs to stop trashing my boys. Seriously. Also, long time no see? I'm really sorry for this incredibly long delay. Inspiration has been elsewhere, I'm afraid. I promise there won't be such a long wait for Chapter 5.**_

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><p>Jeremy paces his room, feeling like an animal trapped in a cage that's too small. He's been awake all night, trying to sort through everything that just happened. He feels totally blindsided. The hurt look on Damon's face after Jeremy pushed him away keeps flashing into his brain. He can't remember Damon ever looking like that, like someone had stomped all over his heart, even in the days of the Stefan-Elena-Damon love triangle drama.<p>

He feels another twinge of something he can't explain, thinking about Damon and Elena. He'd been so _angry_ that Damon's return to Mystic Falls might have had something to do with her. It had startled him, as had the immediate relief he'd felt when Damon had scoffed at his assumption. He tries to remember key parts of the conversation, but he's not sure what matters and what's just typical Damon snark. He thinks the part that really matters is the kiss anyway; or maybe it's the kiss combined with their moment in the kitchen and the things Damon's been saying over the past three days.

Has it really only been three days? Time has a way of slowing down in Mystic Falls. The days blur together, feeling too long and exhausting and Jeremy feels like he's been bickering with Damon for weeks. Running through the conversation again, he can't help thinking he might have overreacted somewhat. But he's spent three days convinced Damon is up to something, and because it's Damon he was certain it had to be something unpleasant. But maybe Damon doesn't have an ulterior motive. Maybe he's been telling the truth since the beginning; he really is back because Jeremy is.

He wants to shove the idea aside the same way he'd pushed Damon away earlier. It just seems so improbable. But he's not sure he can come up with another reason for Damon to kiss him. Any evil plan of Damon's would have to be ridiculously complicated for him to take it that far. And Damon seems to have been behaving himself otherwise: no bodies turning up, no reports of animal attacks, no missing people, nobody even compelled, from what Jeremy can tell.

He can't help wondering how things could be different if Damon weren't _Damon_. If Jeremy didn't know him as well as he does, or at all, if he weren't the vampire who used to be disastrously in love with Jeremy's sister, if they didn't have so much dramatic history between them… Objectively speaking, Damon is…well, too fucking hot for his own good, let alone Jeremy's. Completely unbidden, Jeremy remembers Damon the way he looked the other night in the Grill, his forearms planted on the bar as he leaned forward to talk to Jeremy, in his perfectly-fitted leather jacket, with his lips quirking up into something between a smirk and a smile. Damon had been _flirting_ with him. It's so obvious now, Jeremy thinks—actually, it had probably been completely obvious then too. If he's being totally honest with himself, he can't help feeling drawn to the vampire. He's been digging his heels in, resisting for the past three days, fighting every impulse he has where Damon's concerned. He doesn't know what it is about the vampire that puts him on the defensive so quickly.

The problem isn't fear. He's not afraid of Damon, and he hasn't been for a long time. Even so, he's not sure he trusts him. Jeremy feels guilty, thinking that, especially remembering the easy way Damon had grinned at him earlier when they'd been closing the Grill and the gentle pressure of Damon's lips against his own. Damon offered him something genuine and Jeremy had thrown it back in his face.

Jeremy's room grows lighter as the sun rises. It's early, but he can hear the beginnings of Jackson and Tucker starting to wake up. He's still wearing his clothes from work, his Grill t-shirt and jeans that smell like spilled drinks and fried food, but he doesn't care. He slips down the stairs and out onto the porch. He's never been more certain of anything than he has been right now: he has to _fix_ this, no matter what it takes.

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><p>Damon isn't exactly a stranger to rejection. But it's been long enough since it last happened that he'd forgotten how much it hurts. Until now. The feeling is an almost physical ache settling heavily on his chest. He walks slowly home from Jeremy's, half-hoping the other man will chase him down. He doesn't.<p>

He heads straight for the living room to pour himself a drink once he reaches the boardinghouse. He's certain he'd been making some progress over the past few days, and now he feels like such an idiot for destroying all his hard work. Because it _is_ work, pretending he doesn't care about Jeremy, being flippant when he'd rather be sincere and feeling like he needs to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching Jeremy.

He downs his bourbon in one swallow and fills his glass again. He sips his second drink more slowly, letting the burn of the alcohol down his throat dull the hurt. It's only now that Jeremy pushed him away without a second thought that Damon realizes how high he'd let his hopes get. And Damon doesn't usually let himself have any hopes at all. It's easier that way. Less disappointment. Less of this feeling.

He wants to go back to being angry with Jeremy for being so incredibly stubborn, because at least the anger hurt less. But his walk home cooled his anger, leaving regret and pain in its place. He'd thought having Katherine and Elena both choose Stefan over him had been bad. But this is worse. It isn't a competition; he isn't up against anyone but himself and everything he's done to Jeremy in the past that turned the other man against him.

Damon slouches back against the couch, sighing heavily. He wonders if he really would have gained anything by trying to explain his feelings rather than just kissing Jeremy, or if the end result would have been the same either way. He takes another sip of his drink, deciding he doesn't want to think about this anymore. He finishes his bourbon, leaves the glass on the table next to the couch, and climbs the stairs to his room.

He distracts himself with a scalding shower and a few chapters of _Gone with the Wind_. He ends up throwing the book across the room in frustration, but after a few seconds he regrets it and kicks free of his covers, going to scoop the book up off the floor. It _is_ a first edition, after all.

He doesn't sleep. He lies in bed in the dark, trying not to think. It's impossible, of course. He thinks about the injured tone to Jeremy's voice when he'd misunderstood about Elena, juxtaposed against the stubborn indignation on Jeremy's face after Damon had kissed him. The conflict bothers him; he doesn't know which reaction tells him more. He wants to pick apart every conversation he's ever had with Jeremy, but he's certain it would be an exercise in futility, especially considering how desperate and miserable he is. He'd find a way to apply meanings to everything.

He considers leaving Mystic Falls. Jeremy's right, Damon doesn't need to be here. He could quite literally go anywhere else in the world. But the pressure in his chest feels worse, not better, at the thought of going anywhere. Yes, he might avoid any awkwardness with Jeremy, but leaving now guarantees that Damon will never have another chance at this again. As it is, he may never have another chance, but he's not leaving until he knows for sure.

He must doze off for an hour or so, because he jolts awake abruptly to the sound of someone knocking on the door. His room is dimly lit, and a glance at the clock on his bedside table tells him it's not even six yet.

He already knows who's knocking, so he takes his time, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt before heading downstairs. He pulls the door open and isn't at all surprised to find Jeremy standing on the porch.

"Hi." Jeremy says.

The urge to slam the door in his face is so strong that Damon has to cross his arms tightly over his chest.

"What do you want?" Damon scowls. The rejection is still fresh and raw and he _really_ doesn't want to do this now.

"Can we talk?" Jeremy asks. Damon opens his mouth to refuse, but Jeremy keeps speaking. "_Please_, Damon."

Damon sighs and steps aside, letting Jeremy inside the house. They stand silently in the front hall for a moment.

"Uh, why don't we sit?" Jeremy suggests and Damon shrugs, leading the way into the living room. He wants a drink, but it's a little early, even for him. He sits on one of the couches and Jeremy understands that Damon's cool stare means_ don't sit next to me_, and sits in the chair opposite.

There's another long stretch of silence. Damon resists the urge to snap at Jeremy. Jeremy is the one who wants to talk; he can start the conversation. Damon would have been perfectly happy to avoid the other man for a few days, giving himself some time to lick his wounds and wallow before coming up with a new plan.

"I'm sorry." Jeremy says.

Damon's eyes narrow. "Sorry for what?"

Jeremy sighs and glances up at the ceiling, like the answer to the question might be up there. "I admit I might have…overreacted last night. This morning. Whatever."

"Overreacted." Damon repeats, because it sounds like a cop-out if he's ever heard one.

"I'm just…having a hard time getting my head around this." Jeremy says, and it's just another meaningless, empty expression as far as Damon's concerned. He doesn't want placeholders; he wants something _real_.

"Why?" Damon demands. "What's so confusing for you?"

"I haven't seen you in four years, Damon. All of this feels like it came out of _nowhere._"

"Maybe for you." Damon shakes his head. "But not for me."

"Okay." Jeremy says. "Can you _explain _that to me then?"

"I don't know." Damon sighs.

"Try? Please?" Jeremy looks desperate now; desperate and confused and frustrated and Damon can't help thinking that at least they're _finally_ on the same page about something.

Damon huffs out another sigh, struggling to find the same words he couldn't find last night. "Have you ever sat next to someone and known you'd do anything to touch him?" Jeremy looks as if he isn't sure whether the question is rhetorical or not, and Damon doesn't wait for an answer. "I've gone about as far as I possibly can from this town to escape that feeling and it didn't work. The second Elena told me you were moving back here, I _knew_ I was too. That's what it's like. It's how it's been for years now."

Jeremy blinks slowly and looks like he wants to say something, but Damon continues. It's not often that Damon allows himself honesty untainted by sarcasm and the words that wouldn't come last night are fighting their way out now, demanding to be heard, a catharsis he didn't realize he needs.

"You were such an irritating teenager. You know that, right?" Damon doesn't say it harshly, and Jeremy doesn't seem to take offense, since he just shrugs his shoulders. "You were just so…stubborn_._ Determined to help, all the time, even if it was going to get you killed. It was annoying as fuck." He can't help smirking a little. "But it was brave. Braver than anybody gave you credit for, I think."

Damon gets to his feet without even thinking about it. He can't help pacing across the floor between the couch and Jeremy's chair.

"There were times I thought I was going to go crazy from wanting you so badly. Still are, actually. I've been here three days and you would not _believe _the number of times I've thought about dragging you out of the Grill and having my wicked, wicked way with you." He smirks like it's a joke, but he can tell Jeremy understands exactly how serious he is from the way his heart starts to thud loudly against his ribcage. It's both an encouraging sign and a distracting one.

He swallows thickly, wondering if Jeremy is going to make him say the words he's been avoiding. He really hopes not. He knows neither of them is ready for that kind of confession yet.

"I've been running from this for a long time," Damon sighs. "But I don't think I can anymore."

"Damon." Jeremy breathes, and it's not a tone the vampire recognizes. He risks a glance at the other man. Jeremy still looks a little shell-shocked, but most of the desperation has left his eyes. "You could have _said_ something."

Damon snorts and the sarcasm creeps back into his voice. "Because it obviously was such a big hit last night."

Jeremy has the decency to look somewhat sheepish and Damon smiles ruefully. "Don't start apologizing again. Rejection and I are old friends now. I'll get over it."

Jeremy frowns. "You're kidding me, right?"

Damon actually starts a little when Jeremy gets to his feet. He has the irrational urge to take a step back as Jeremy moves closer.

"After all of that, you're just going to give up and get over it?" Jeremy scoffs.

"I know I seem like a total masochist, but even _I_ have my limits."

"What, I'm not allowed to change my mind?"

Damon freezes. People _don't_ change their minds about him, which is exactly how he likes it. The closer people are, the more they can hurt you, and Damon has been hurt enough to last several lifetimes. Then again, people don't show up to his house before dawn demanding sincerity and explanations either, and Damon thinks he's probably in way over his head where Jeremy is concerned.

Before he can come up with a sufficiently cool, detached, witty reply to Jeremy's question, Jeremy takes another step closer, close enough now that Damon can smell the spilled alcohol on his clothes and see the beginnings of dark circles beneath his eyes. He manages to find some twisted form of comfort in knowing Jeremy has had a sleepless night too.

One of Jeremy's hands lands on Damon's hip—warm and solid and possessive and it's the last that Damon wants to fight against most, because he isn't _Jeremy's_, not yet, maybe not ever—and the other curls around his jaw and Damon can't help flinching. He feels exposed and last night's rejection still smarts and despite Jeremy's thumb stroking slowly across his skin, he still doesn't quite know where the other man stands on all of this.

"Damon," Jeremy breathes again and then he's leaning closer, closing what little distance there is between them. Damon can't explain why, but he expects a kiss that's soft and tender and tentative. It's not; it's hungry and determined, Jeremy's arm sliding around his waist, holding him tight. Damon kisses back fiercely—his reservations are still there, but they've quieted to a whisper in the back of his head that he can easily ignore.

His own hands slide down the sides of Jeremy's torso (he doesn't miss the slight squirm that means Jeremy is ticklish, and he files the information away for future use) stopping at his hips and steering him backwards. They tumble gracelessly onto the sofa and Jeremy laughs. He nips teasingly at Jeremy's pulse point, and he feels the other man's heart begin to race under his mouth. He wants to taste Jeremy and to strip him bare and learn every inch of him, but after the highs and lows of the past twelve hours he feels even more cautious where Jeremy is concerned. Damon has bared his whole soul, practically, and Jeremy could destroy him so easily. He doesn't yet know if he can trust the other man not to.

He pushes the thought away as best he can, back to the corner of his mind where he keeps the other things he doesn't think about. He mouths his way across Jeremy's jaw to capture his lips again. This kiss is slower and sweeter, and Damon can feel some of his panicked desperation ebbing away. He's still not entirely sure how in the span of six hours, they've gone from shouting at each other in the Saltzmans' driveway to here, but he doesn't think he wants to question it right now, when Jeremy's tongue is tangling with his and Jeremy has one hand gripping Damon's hair and the other tugging rather uselessly at Damon's shirt.

Jeremy pulls away a few moments later, a smirk on his face, "What was that you said, about wanting to have your wicked way with me?"

"Sorry, babe, but you're gonna have to _earn_ that." Damon's only half-joking, but he doesn't mind that Jeremy laughs. After watching the other man mope for three days, a genuine smile on his face is something Damon isn't used to and he can't help smiling back.

"And what does that involve?" Jeremy teases.

"Oh, the usual. Laugh at my jokes, don't use Gilbert judgey eyes on me, generally worship the ground I walk on, get me free drinks at the Grill."

Jeremy snorts. "I can promise you none of those things."

Damon smirks. "Just the free drinks, then."

"You'll have to take that up with Matt."

"Hmmm. Three-way. I mean, if that's what you really want—

"Damon. Shut up." Jeremy rolls his eyes.

"Make me."

Jeremy does.


End file.
